


doubt thou the stars are fire

by thinkofaugust



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M, but hey ho, really more of a character study than a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkofaugust/pseuds/thinkofaugust
Summary: 'Once, when they were young and still learning the contours of each others' souls, the Chevalier traced circles on Philippe’s bare back and murmured, “henceforth, every day that I do not touch you, taste you, feel you, will be a day of death and mourning.” And for the first time since he was a very young boy, Philippe believed it...'





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a character study than a narrative. Let's call it 'a glimpse into Philippe's mind'. Enjoy!

_doubt thou the stars are fire,_

_doubt that the sun doth move,_

_doubt truth to be a liar,_

_but never doubt i love_

William Shakespeare - _Hamlet_

-x- 

  


From the moment he was born, Philippe's destiny was fixed. Not in the way his brother’s was. Louis was next in line to be king, a role appointed by God Almighty, and he has always seemed to know, in one way or another, what he was meant to do. Philippe's destiny was slightly different. 

He has always known, in every way, what he was _not_ meant to do.

He was _not_ to outshine Louis. He was _not_ to question his authority. He was _not_ to aim to be superior in anything – especially not matters of state. Everything from his clothes, to his tutorage, to his manner was there to remind him that he was subordinate. His mother used to make him wear dresses, as though the feminine garments would knock the desire for war out of him. He despised her for it, until he grew up, and Philippe realised that breaches, dresses and shoes were weapons just as much as swords and muskets. And the court was battlefield of its own.

Perhaps that is why they ridicule him for it now. The King’s baby brother; the ‘pretty one’, who still wore dresses from time to time and let his gaze linger a little too long where the courtiers deemed it probably shouldn’t (who were they to tell him who to admire? who to love?). He knew they all gossiped about him, laughed at him even, but he would not let them take what was his. This was his weapon. This was his war. And he could out-run them all – in so many more ways than they possibly knew.

But not his brother. _Never_ his brother. No, this was Philippe’s destiny: to be brilliant but never glorious, to be the star that hung perpetually below the sun.

It should not have surprised anyone, then, that he found comfort in the Chevalier de Lorraine. It was, in a way, written in his destiny. From the first moment, perhaps without even knowing it, the Chevalier was a foil to the French court. When they mocked him for choice of wardrobe, the Chevalier laughed over them all, laid a hand on his arm and said “you know, I’ve always found silk to be superior to all fabrics, don’t you agree?” 

When his stomach churned with anger and jealousy each time Louis refused to give him a command, the Chevalier pressed his cheek to Philippe's temple and declared, “one day, my dear, he will see your worth.”

The Chevalier was handsome (when Philippe was pretty), confident to the extent that he appeared brash, and when he looked at Philippe, (when he thought Philippe didn’t know, he always knew) he saw something no-one else could. He didn’t not see a star, though it was, indeed, beautiful. He saw the sun, because it was, undoubtedly, necessary. Because without it (him), the world was dark, and cold and fruitless. 

Once, when they were young and still learning the contours of each others' souls, the Chevalier traced circles on Philippe’s bare back and murmured, “henceforth, every day that I do not touch you, taste you, feel you, will be a day of death and mourning.” And for the first time since he was a very young boy, Philippe believed it, believed that someone could depend on him, not because he was the King's brother, but because he was Philippe. Philippe, who wasn't a King and was not yet a war hero, but fought a battle all the same; one where the weapon was silk dresses and the prize was not always land but love.

(after all, the stars are made of fire too, don’t you know?)


End file.
